


just come home to me

by Eloquentdrivil



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Astra's Death, F/F, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kalex, Sexually explicit depictions in later chapters, broken relationship, sister/sister romantic relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloquentdrivil/pseuds/Eloquentdrivil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want you to leave. My apartment, my city, my life. I don't care how you do it, but you will leave, and I will never have to lay my eyes on you again. Not at my job, not at the DEO, not in this city. I want you gone, as if you never existed." Kara had stepped forward then, deadly boiling rage rolling off of her, sinking into Alex's bones like lead. "Do you understand me?"</p>
<p>The truth of Astra's death comes out, and Alex and Kara shatter in the aftermath. But the pieces don't quite fit the way they did before, and desperation is a tricky thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. finders keepers

####  _i. finders keepers_

People talk about the Danvers sisters as if they _know_.

_It must have been Kara,_ they say. _Because no one's heard from Alex in months, so it must have been Kara who drove her sister away._

_Well, Alex will just have to swallow the hurt and forgive her,_ they decide. _She's her little sister, after all! Practically a kid. She probably didn't even know what she was doing._

_It's such a shame,_ they lament. _They were so close._

 

Sisters.

Best friends.

Partners in crime.

Kara and Alex.

Alex and Kara.

Look how Kara adores her big sister.

Look how Alex protects her little sister.

They're so adorable, Eliza's girls.

Closer than blood.

So good together.

 

People talk about the Danvers sisters as if they _know_.

 

_They were so close._

 

Soulmates.

A single person cleaved in two, flung in opposite directions, across time and space, and then challenged to find their other half.

 

One lands in a legend with artists' hands and a hero's heart. They call her Kara and pretend they know the future.

They do not, and she will lose everything to their arrogance.

Even so, she will never know hollowness, emptiness, abject loneliness.

Because there's a voice in her ear telling her to be strong, and a small burning notch in her chest, the perfect size and shape to fit a person she hasn't met, can't imagine, but whom she can feel, like their physical presence already exists inside her.

It doesn't stop the fracture between her ribs where _home_ used to be, but it's somewhere safe to hide when the loss is too big, and she waits for peace.

 

The other half lands in a hurricane the doctors mistake for a baby girl, and when she howls, they call her Alexandra and pretend she is small.

She is not, and she will devastate them for their arrogance.

She's told the eye of her storm is a wicked thing, existing solely to promise false safety and lure foolish victims into her destructive grip. She's told to keep it hidden, keep it empty. It's better for everyone.

But it doesn't stop her from quietly accepting the truth; that the eye of her storm feels more like a haven for one very specific person she can't yet see, but whose serenity patiently waits in Alex's chest. 

 

They don't have words to describe what they feel the first time they see each other, a few dozen yards and a pane of glass between them, but their souls recognize each other immediately, and they _know._

They don't know exactly what it is they suddenly know, but the knowledge, even unnamed, is powerful and resounding, and it's enough.

 

Their connection is bright, filling the atmosphere between them with light, melding seamlessly into a single luminosity; without beginning, without ending, just there and real, and tangible – honestly tangible – and they can feel each other as legitimately as is they're physically touching, even when they're not. 

 

They feel it in that first moment, without even knowing each other's names.

They feel it lying in Alex's single bed that night, foreheads touching and fingers tangling.

They feel it across the schoolyard, when Kara needs Alex and Alex is there, always there.

They feel it over five states, when Alex is lying in her new dorm room and Kara is counting out exactly how many days are left until Thanksgiving break.

They feel it a midst battles and aliens and secrets and overbearing superiors.

They feel it through fear and desperation and parasites that steal memories but can’t steal _them_.

 

They can feel it. They can always feel it. From long before they were born through to their next life, they can always, always feel each other, know the other, and exist together.

The solid press of the other between their ribs is home, it's right, it's who they are in every way.

And they can feel it, and it's so _right_ , so _strong_ , so _full_ , so _**them**_.

 

They are Alex, and they are Kara, and they are Alex and Kara.

One person cleaved in two, tossed into opposite corners of the universe, across time and space.

And then challenged to reunite their missing halves.

 

_They were just so close._

 

* * *

 

"Kara, please!" Alex had begged, chasing desperately after the trembling superhero. "Please, I—"

"I don't care," Kara cut her off, stopping dead in her tracks, her voice deadly cold and so completely unlike anything Alex had ever heard from her younger sister.

"Wh-what?"

"I. do not. care." Kara turned on her sharply, towering her full height over the other woman, face set in scowling stone, eyes unreachably hard. "I don't care why you did it. I don't care if you had to. I don't care if you're sorry, if you'd take it back, if it hurts you to think about, I just don't fucking care!"

Alex flinched away from her sister's booming presence, shrinking in on herself right before Kara's eyes, and for the first time, Alex was small.

"Ka—"

"I want you to leave. My apartment, my city, my life. I don't care how you do it, but you will leave, and I will never have to lay my eyes on you again. Not at my job, not at the DEO, not in this city. I want you gone, as if you never existed." Kara had stepped forward then, deadly boiling rage rolling off of her, sinking into Alex's bones like lead. "Do you understand me?"

Alex swallowed thickly around the steel lodged in her windpipe. "I'm—"

"Don't. Just go."

 

And Alex did. Quietly, in the middle of the night and with help from J'onn, she disappeared from Kara's life, exactly as she'd been instructed.

If walking away was the only way she could do right by Kara, then at least she could take some comfort in that.

It was enough.

It had to be.


	2. ghosts don't fear death (they fear moving on)

__

#### ii. ghosts don't fear death (they fear moving on)

__

 

Alex dismisses her alarm twelve minutes before it's set to go off, tosses the covers away, and swings her legs over the side of her single bed, sighing heavily. She allows herself thirty seconds to hang her head where she sits, her short hair tickling her cheeks, eyes shut tight against the windowless bunker that has never seen the sun, and she lets herself think of _home._

 

_…blonde hair flipping and twisting in the ocean breeze; a bright, toothy smile tossed over one sun-glazed shoulder; her laughter music in the air between them; blue eyes more vibrant than the pacific backdrop behind her, and Alex is filled…_

 

And then Alex boxes her away, nice and neat and tightly locked, and pushes to her feet, filling the silence of her quarters by mumbling Tom Lehrer's periodic table of elements song, absently bobbing her head in time with the mnemonic rhythm. 

She pulls a fresh polo from the middle drawer of a standard issue chest-of-drawers in the corner, fresh underwear from the top drawer, and the one-day-worn black pants, heavy service belt still wound through the belt loops, and lays the whole outfit on her unmade bed.

Her tired shoulders pop when she rolls them, shaking out any lingering lethargy, methodically wraps her knuckles, and begins to stretch, restarting her list of elements once more. 

For fifteen minutes, she lays into a heavy standing punching bag, grunting with the effort, and works up a nice, heavy sweat until her face is flushed and her muscles hum pleasantly.

She stretches once more, grabs a towel from the laundry basket next to the chest-of-drawers, and strips down to take a quick shower. 

She dons her metaphorical armor. 

Uniform first, shirt neatly tucked, collar laying perfectly, belt slung low across her hips, mid-calf combat boots laced tight and neat. 

She winds her watch around her right arm, face tucked securely against the inside of her wrist, and a simple gold-chained necklace lays around her throat.

Her phone goes in her right pocket, keys in her left.

Lastly, she secures the thigh-holster around her right leg, pulls her service weapon, checks the clip, then the chamber, cocks the hammer, flicks the safety off, then back on, manually releases the hammer, and re-holsters the gun.

When she looks in the mirror, Alex Danvers is a half-forgotten memory, too far removed from this moment, this face, this room, to prompt any further recollection and she doesn't bother trying.

Alex Danvers is ten months and sixteen-hundred miles away from this moment; she is irrelevant and unnecessary.

Director Danvers turns away from the mirror, cracks her neck, and straightens her shoulders. 

And then she marches out into the Chicago DEO and tells herself the aching hollow down the whole left side of her torso is strength.

 

* * *

 

 _"You're nearly on top of him, Director,"_ Agent Mueller's voice crackles in her ear. _"No sign of the missing humans."_

Alex doesn't reply, but her eyes sharpen into the gray semi-darkness of the dilapidated warehouse, a long-barrel dart-gun butted tightly to her shoulder as she steps with marked precision between long rows of rusted shipping crates.

Behind her, Beta squad follows her every movement, their collective boots crunching a slow, steady grind over the layer of shattered glass littering the concrete floor. 

The team comes to a T-intersection between the rows. With a single gesture, she sends Agent Pease, the squadron leader, down one direction, six agents on his tail, while she takes the other. 

Both teams are just reaching the ends of their respective rows when a nearly inaudible hollow splat tickles her ear from somewhere near the front of the warehouse.

"Beta, down," she murmurs, stopping and crouching as her command reaches the comm pieces in every member's ear and they follow immediately, taking a knee, waiting.

There's an endless beat of silence and Alex's ears strain for the next sign of movement. 

It comes with an earsplitting screech that echoes metallically off the walls of the giant structure, and then quick, wide footsteps sound over the tops of the shipping crates behind them.

"Hold fire," she commands, recognizing the creatures call as that of their mark, but also knowing something had spooked the Tlaari, and it definitely hadn't been her team. 

The foot falls close in on their position, echoing off the tops of crates only a dozen yards away now, and then all at once, the long, gray creature is arching up over their row, head turned back toward whatever had sent him running in the first place.

"Do not engage, hold position," she whispers to her soldiers, now intently watching and listening for a second hostile.

The first gunshots ring out at almost the same moment a large glob of green goo the size of a basketball flies over their heads, clearly aimed at the Tlaari still frantically running for the exit. 

"Beta, stand—" 

A high pitched, whizzing hiss fills the air and Alex is on her feet. 

"Beta, ceasefire and retreat! Now!" she barks into the comm, leading her half of the squad in a sprint toward the exit. "Agent Pease, do you copy?"

The gunfire immediately cuts.

"Pease, retreat, now! This place is gonna blow!"

"Copy, ma'am."

Another splat sounds under the increasing hiss, and Alex is having a hard time calculating by the sound alone how much time until the punctured spore pock reaches its end stage of concussive explosion. So she pulls up, motions for her team to keep going and begins scaling a nearby shipping crate to get an eye on the rest of her squad. 

The Tlaari is wrestling with a brutish-looking Golle between crates, neither seem to notice or care about the armed humans fleeing the warehouse no more than fifty feet from them. 

She sees the growing spore pock, now nearly the size of a small car and no longer pale green, but a sickening, throbbing orange. It'll blow when it darkens to bloody crimson. 

Twenty seconds, she calculates.

Pease is at a loading bay door now, sending his team outside ahead of him. Seventeen seconds. Alex counts all six soldiers as they disappear through the door, then watches Pease safely follow them out before she swings down from the crate, counting the seconds in her head and she pushes as hard and fast as her heavy tactical gear will allow.

Twelve seconds…

Another screech from the Tlaari, and Alex can see the sunlight reflecting off the gravel lot just outside the man-door. 

Ten…

The spore pock begins to rumble ominously, clattering the crates behind her. 

Eight…

She reaches the door, swings herself out into the blinding brightness, not slowing her clip as she makes for the line of turnstiles her squad has retreated behind. 

Four…

She takes a hard leap as the warehouse behind her blows out, the concussion hitting her in the back hard as the entire building becomes a storm of shrapnel blowing out toward her, enveloping her. Hands grab her as she clears the concrete divide, dragging her down to safety and the world erupts around them.

 

* * *

 

Alex is aware the medical personnel on staff draw straws when she needs to be treated for something she can't just take care of herself. Emily is convinced it's due to the dispassionate scowl permanently affixed to her face, saying it's just the wrong side of disconcerting most of the time.

 _"You intimidate them. Like, a lot. Like, you kinda scare them shitless,"_ the girl had told her after she'd sent one young doctor off because his hands hadn't stopped shaking the whole time he was removing a shard of steel from her shoulder. 

Alex can admit she's not the softest presence in the room, and for good reason. And for that reason, she's grateful whenever Dr. Hayes draws short, the old army vet seeming as unperturbed by Alex's demeanor as she is about the various stomach-churning injuries DEO agents collect on a monthly basis. 

It's one less thing to worry about when the director needs stitches that bisect her eyebrow and cut precariously close to the delicate lid beneath. 

But even Dr. Hayes is beginning to scowl irritably as Alex's anxious protégé paces a yard from the physician's chair, drifting closer and closer with every pass. 

"Agent Dolan," Alex drawls, rolling just her eyes to fix the teenager with a pointed look when the seventeen-year-old begins to fidget as the doctor moves to stitch down beneath her superior's eyebrow. 

Emily lets out a petulant huff and follows the unspoken command to go plop down on Alex's stiff office couch, snatching up a magazine she doesn't even pretend to read, and watches from afar as the army doctor finishes a perfectly acceptable patch-job on Alex's eyebrow.

"Don't touch it," the old doctor tells her in her usual gruff, disinterested tone as she gathers the remains of the stitch kit from the corner of Alex's desk and leaves the office without another glance back. 

Alex straightens in her chair and moves to finish drafting up the Tlaari's BOLO when Emily shoots to her side once more. The older woman grunts her annoyance at the gentle hands abruptly tilting her chin this way and that. "Agent Dolan."

"She could have been neater about these," the girl grouses, pinching her brow at the short, but thick, laceration, swiping one tender thumb beneath detached hazel eyes. "You'll definitely have a scar."

Alex sighs in exasperation at the attention, and she really shouldn't let the girl worry over – let alone _touch_ – her superior officer, but there are some things that require way more energy than Alex has, and telling her teenage second to adhere to professional protocol tops that list. 

"You have to be more careful," Emily mumbles in a low tone, the actual depth of her worry trickling through as she meets Alex's cool eyes.

"It's a part of the job," Alex counters, her injured eyebrow ticking up a notch. 

"But that doesn't mean you should run headlong into danger with absolutely no regard to your own safety!" the young brunette suddenly explodes, voice wobbling dangerously as she rips herself away. "God, you're not _Supergirl,_ alright! You're not infallible!" 

Alex startles – _hard_ – at the namedrop, but drags that mask of composure back down before intense blue eyes find her once more. 

"There are people who need you to come home in one piece," the girl presses, expression wide open with tremulous, terrified anger and she quickly swipes at the tears that managed to slip down her reddening cheek. "So just, why don't you think about that next time and maybe don't act like some reckless, selfish jerk, alright?" 

The older woman lets out a hard sigh and looks away from the emotional agent, shaking her head in something like irritation. 

Emily asks for too much. It's Alex's job to run headlong into danger, into battle, collect her battle scars, and bring her soldiers home. And the day may come when she's called to give everything she's got to fulfill her job. That's what it means to lead soldiers; to be willing to lay down your life for them. And Emily needs to understand that. 

But she's just a kid, and she's alone, and she says she needs Alex, and Alex will never be able to promise she'll make it home in one piece because she needs a clear mind to make the difficult choices out there. Make the choices that will always be in her soldiers' best interest, but may not always be in hers, and how do you say that to a seventeen-year-old kid who says she needs you? Moreover, how does she silence that voice in the back of her mind telling her she doesn't bear the price of her actions alone if she has to choose between her life and theirs? 

It doesn't make her a good leader, and it doesn't protect her soldiers. 

And she should tell Emily all this; lay out the reality of this job, this life. Maybe telling her would push the girl away, push her back to that safe distance between agent and director and break whatever attachment the girl's fostered for the older woman before she has to lose her. 

"It's just a cut, I'm fine," is what she says instead. 

And then there's a hesitant knock at her office door and Emily quickly turns away, hiding the emotions still staining her cheeks, and moves over the prep table occupying the other half of the director's office to continue prepping air samples from a fungal containment last week, and the conversation is well and truly over. 

Straightening at her desk, Alex calls out for the visitor to come in, determinedly keeping her eyes fixed forward and not at Emily's hunched, narrow shoulders only a few yards away.

Agent Pease gulps subtly as he enters, eyes flicking briefly, nervously, to the teenager occupying herself with lab work before facing his director with as much composure as he can gather. 

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?" the young man acknowledges respectfully, chin high, shoulders straight, and eyes fixed on the wall behind her; the guise of a perfect soldier. 

Alex doesn't answer for a long moment, and doesn't bother standing as she levels her steady gaze on the barrel-chested young man, watching the concerted effort he's putting into making sure he doesn't waver under her scrutiny. She wonders if he knows she is very well aware that he took that first shot today, and considers testing him to see if he'd tell her the truth of his own volition. 

But she's not cruel, and he's already going to need a drink after this. 

"Agent Pease, effective immediately, you are no longer squadron leader. Agent Haggerty will assume your command over Beta, and you'll join Echo under Agent Nobel." She pushes a printed copy of his new squad's training schedule across the desk. "This is their training schedule. You will conduct yourself respectfully, follow every order to the tee, and in six months, if I see a marked improvement in your ability to follow orders, we'll revisit this issue and decide whether you're ready to resume your post. Are we clear, Agent Pease?"

"Please, ma'am, if I could—" His voice cuts off somewhere in his tightened throat. "Just gimme one more chance, ma'am, please. Let me go after him. I can get him, I–"

This time, she does stand, bearing down on him with hard eyes, but her voice remains calm, composed, when she cuts in. "Tell me why you're in my office today, Agent Pease."

His wavering brow crinkles and his eyes dart to her right, seeking some sort of support from the room's third occupant, who pointedly refuses to look up from the air samples she's prepping. " I, um, I failed to complete my mission and apprehend–"

"No, Agent Pease, this isn't because you didn't complete a mission objective," she cuts him off smoothly. "Missions fail. It's a reality of the job, and we've both been doing this job long enough to know the exact moment this one was doomed, and I'm fully aware that was beyond your control. Your mark spooked, he ran. But when I told you not to engage, you deliberately disobeyed my direct order and took a shot anyway. _You_ punctured the Golle's spore pock, and _you_ almost got your entire squad killed in the process, as a direct result of your insubordination."

"I was–" 

Alex raises her hand to silence him. "It doesn't matter what you were trying to do, and it doesn't matter how you read the situation. That's still not why I'm pulling you off squad leader. You _disobeyed a direct order_ , Agent Pease. _My_ direct order. Do you think I have any faith that the next time I give you an order – one that could be the difference between life and death for your entire squad – that you'll follow it without hesitation? Because I don't; I do not trust you to get my agents home safely, and _that_ is why I'm stripping you of your command." 

His eyes fall away from her, the severity of the situation finally sinking in. "I understand, ma'am."

She nods once and pushes his new training schedule pointedly closer to him. "Good. Then I hope you'll take the opportunity I'm giving you to earn that trust back. _Show me_ you understand, Agent Pease."

He gives a shaky nod, and takes the schedule from her, looking her in the eye once more. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." And with that, he ducks his head and leaves her office, keeping his eyes fixed forward and away from the young woman still prepping samples a few yards away.

Silence reigns for a few precious seconds as Alex rearranges her desk and retakes her seat.

"So, if you looking to fill that empty spot on Beta..." Emily begins, her voice still a bit ragged around the edges, but the smile comes through loud and clear. 

"How old are you, Agent Dolan?" she asks dully, putting final edits on the e-mail.

"Aw, come on!" Emily predictably whines, scuffing her boot petulantly against the linoleum floor. "I've been training every day; I am so ready for this! And you know, Director Till sent me out all the time, _when I was only 15_!"

She made a small notated instruction for Agent Mueller, who will post the BOLO, and sends the email off. "Director Till is no longer your director, and the fact that he sent a teenager out into the field speaks to the reasons why." 

Alex glances up, taking a brief moment to take in Emily's profile bent over the prep table, pouting impossibly hard down at her work, and Alex is suddenly reminded that this is the same 5'1, 95 lbs of nothing-but-scraps she'd spotted from across the control room on her first day in Chicago. 

The girl had been in tactical gear two sizes too big, her squad having just gotten in from a mission. Her thin arms tucked tiredly around an assault rifle that was bigger than she was, and there was blood smudged across her sickly pale cheek, still soft with baby fat. And then those wide blue eyes locked with Alex's and knocked the wind right out of the director's chest as she felt a distant, heavy throb in her heart, remembering exactly what it felt like to be a child pretending she wasn't afraid to be brave, just needing someone to tell her it was okay to be young, to be unsure, to be weak.

So Alex let Emily be weak.

She took her out of danger and removed her from squad service, taught her how to fight, how to shoot, how to do lab work, how to communicate with several non-hostile alien species. 

She kept her young, replaced responsibility with choice, taught her protocol then let her break it. Gave her work then let her play.

Alex gave her the ability to branch out, explore her options within the organization - and then outside of it - told her she could leave, and was surprised when Emily stayed. And then pretended _surprised_ wasn't a stand-in for _terrified_ , because the girl was so young and so soft and her brightness didn't belong in a place so dark.

But Emily stayed; stayed for Alex, stayed _with_ Alex. 

And Alex was weak enough to let her. 

Because Emily needed someone, and Alex didn't tell the girl she couldn't let that someone be her. 

And it's…not what Alex was expecting, and she's not entirely sure if it's something she wants, can let herself want, because taking on that role in someone else's life doesn't feel entirely possible, and Alex is hollowed out and achingly missing more often than not, and sometimes she doesn't want to get out of bed, but…sometimes when that happens, she remembers she has to train Emily that day, and forces herself up just for that.

It's really not okay.

And Alex shouldn't have let it take root, should have ended it all those months ago, because the director's survival mission-to-mission is tentative at best, improbable at worst, and when the day inevitably comes that the odds swing out of the older woman's favor, Emily will be left alone in the devastation, and Alex…will have left her there.

She should tell Emily this.

"Hurry up and finish those samples," she refocuses the conversation, shaking her head clear and dropping her eyes back to the file in her hands. "You're training with Echo at five. And fix that face; this is the DEO, Agent Dolan, not preschool."

"Yes, _mom_ ," Emily mutters under her breath.

Alex sucks her teeth and shoots a warning look at the girl.

 

* * *

 

She wants a drink.

A bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and a nice, smooth burn. A pleasant numbness to sooth the restless whir in her skin, the warmth sliding into the sinews of her muscles like hot coco on a cold day.

She wants winter to end.

Because it's April, and sunny, and the temperature hasn't dipped below forty degrees in almost eight weeks, but the cold hasn't left her yet. She's still frozen stiff, body heavy, limbs cement, throat raw, lungs seizing in the frigid air. 

She wants to breathe again.

It's been ten months since barbed wire replaced oxygen and now every inhale feels like iron and rust, slicing over and over again, punishing her for daring to survive in the wake of her loss.

She doesn't want to be lost anymore.

Her mind knows what happened; the events and choices made that led her here. She knows this is her destination, that she's arrived. But her body hasn't caught up yet. It thrums anxiously, tells her this isn't right, she needs to turn back, it's the wrong direction, the wrong place; she's not home yet.

She wants to go home.

The warmth of an adoring smile; the smell of Egyptian sandalwood in the hollow of a long throat; soft blue eyes that knew how to find her before they even knew what to look for; a voice that soothed the howling storm in her chest; the solid body against hers that aligned perfectly into every jut and curve of her soul, and anchored her, caught her, sought her out, gave her form, made her whole; this is home.

When she says she wants a drink, what she means is, she just wants to go home.

But she's not allowed to go home anymore, so when she's worn, and ragged, and raw, and wants so badly just to _go home_ , she reaches for a drink. Then another and another and another, until she is gone, until _she_ is gone. 

And she pretends it's what she wanted all along.

 

God, she just wants a drink.

 

* * *

 

The youngest of the five squads, Echo is rambunctious and loud, likened more to a litter of puppies than a squad of alien-hunting military specialists, and Emily fits them like a glove, inspiring a rowdy cheer when the older agents spot her approach across the training room floor, grabbing her into their playful roughhousing as soon as she's close. 

Alex watches from the sidelines as one of the twenty-something jarheads snags the tiny brunette in a headlock that she quickly dislodges and reverses, forcing the much larger agent onto his stomach, twisting his arm until he lets out a yelp of surrender. Emily is laughing delightfully as she lets go and rolls away, her eyes catching Alex's across the room, seeking approval.

The older woman's chest is tight with pride, and she nods once, vaguely feeling the warmth from the responding bright smile thaw her bones for just a moment.

Agent Mackenzie Nobel lets out a sharp whistle, corralling her boisterous agents to begin their training session. 

The blonde agent smiles when she catches Emily's eye, bright green eyes twinkling with affection when she tells the girl not to hurt the bigger agents just because she can. 

The blush that burns across the teenager's cheeks is a thing of legend, as is the mighty smile Emily unsuccessfully tries to twist off her face.

Alex narrows her eyes as she watches the interaction between the twenty-five year old squadron leader and her seventeen year old second, wondering if she should perhaps be worried about the way green eyes linger, and blue eyes seek again and again. 

Emily leans in close when she passes the squad leader, says something with a mischievous smile, something the director can't make out from so far away, and maybe that's the point, but Alex sees Nobel's cheeks redden and her jaw gape, and when Emily dodges the playful swipe at her arm, she blows a kiss over her shoulder that leaves the blonde off balance.

Something tugs at the muscles in Alex's shoulders, something hot and hard; it screams that Emily is a child, and Nobel is not, and if Alex finds out that woman has been conducting herself inappropriately—

Agent Pease appears in her line of sight, shuffling nervously and wringing his hands as he approaches Emily from behind. She's laughing with the jarhead from earlier while they wait in line for their turn on the course.

Pease calls Emily's name, laying gentle, hesitant fingertips against her elbow to get her attention.

Alex pushes off the wall when she sees fire lick at those sharp blue eyes, watching closely as the director meanders toward them. 

He says something Alex can't hear. Emily scowls and gestures impatiently. His shoulders shrug, and he hovers one hand between them, like he wants to touch her again, but restrains himself. She sees his mouth moving, sees him explaining, pleading.

And then Alex kicks into a jog when white-hot fury and ruthless intent explode across the usually sunny girl's face.

Emily is hissing at him, advancing.

He trips back a step, speaks again - evidently the exact wrong thing.

The first punch lands in his cheek hard, catching him off guard and sending him twisting down to the mat. He raises his hand to her when she continues forward.

"Em, please! I'm sorry! That's not what I meant, I—"

The next punch cracks him in the temple, and then Alex is there, grabbing the girl's wrist hard in one hand, opposite deltoid in the other, using her body as a barricade to press in close to the teen and block him from Emily's view while she shuffles the girl several paces back. Her head tucks in close to Emily's, mouth hovering close to her ear.

"Get a hold of yourself. Now." Alex's voice is gruff, simmering with barely contained anger.

"I can't, Alex, he said you—" 

"I don't care," the taller woman snaps, pulling back enough to catch smoldering eyes. "Whatever it is, it's not a good enough reason to attack a fellow agent. Do you understand me?"

Emily is still trembling dangerously in her arms, but the younger girl manages to pull a deep breath, curling her arm around Alex's until she can grip the director's elbow and tugs her wrist free to clutch at Alex's sleeve while she shuffles half an inch closer, forehead nearly touching the side of Alex's jaw. 

"I'm sorry," the teenager hitches out of her tight throat.

Alex sighs heavily, anger dulling, and gives the girl a minute to collect herself.

Nobel dismisses Echo squad, and when Alex spares the rest of the room a quick glance, Pease is long gone, just a splatter of blood on the mat speaking to the man's part in the events of the past few minutes. 

Alex's flicks her eyes to Nobel then, watching the woman linger, brow furrowed as she assesses the young girl in Alex's arms for injury. And then she meets her director's heavy stare.

The women standoff over Emily's shaking shoulder, both trying to read intent in the other, and Alex takes an unconscious, protective step closer to the dark-haired teenager in her grip. Emily's fingers tighten in response, unaware of the battle of wills happening above her.

"Alex?" the young girl whispers, voice now broken and wobbling with impending tears. 

"Hmm?" the older woman murmurs, tearing her eyes away from the senior agent, refocusing on her protégé. 

Emily sniffs and lets go of Alex's sleeve to wipe quickly at her face. "Can I just go back to my room?"

And really, as Emily's director, Alex should say no, should take the girl back up to her office and officially reprimand her for attacking a fellow - _superior_ \- agent, and level some sort of punishment against the girl for her actions.

"Yeah," she concedes instead. "But we'll have to talk about this later," is the compromise she makes with herself.

Emily nods quickly and pulls away, bypassing Agent Nobel without even a passing glance as she jogs for the door.

The remaining two women are in unspoken agreement not to dive into whatever they're about to dive into until the door clangs shut behind their girl.

And as soon as that sound rings out, Nobel is in Alex's face, green eyes alight with a fury that honestly surprises the brunette.

"You wanna tell me what the hell happened back there, Danvers?" the blonde woman demands, her nose inches from Alex's.

Indigence roars in the older woman's blood and she broadens her shoulders, stepping impossibly closer to bear down on her subordinate, despite their similar heights. "You wanna fix that tone, Agent Nobel?" she counters, her authoritative presence filling the air between them.

The lower agent holds her ground for a long moment, scowl etched deeply into her young face, before the expression shutters away, rage brought back under reign, and Nobel steps back, tucking her chin in subordination. 

"Apologies, ma'am," Agent Nobel mutters, voice tight with lingering emotion. "I was just concerned. It's not like Emily to attack someone like that."

Alex sucks her teeth and closes her eyes briefly to drag her mask of composure back into place, pushing her own anger away.

When she looks at Nobel next, her expression is impassive, hazel eyes scanning the blonde woman's face with cool authority and nothing more.

"You know Agent Dolan pretty well, then," the director surmises, folding her arms over her chest.

Nobel gives a stiff nod, eyes focused on the wall behind her superior. "Yes, ma'am, I do."

Alex nods her acknowledgement, absently pacing closer. "Well enough to take a guess at what happened here, what might've caused her to act so far out of character." 

The other agent hesitates a beat, mind rapidly assessing her own answer. "I do have a theory, ma'am," she responds carefully.

Alex tilts her head. "Please do share, agent."

Again, there's a moment of consideration, Nobel's eyes falling to the ground, jaw tensing. "Emily is…fond of you. Ma'am. And given Pease's actions during your mission this morning, it stands to reason that she was upset with him for the danger he put you in."

"There were twelve other agents assigned to that mission with me and Pease," the older woman points out. "You don't think she could've been acting on their behalf? Or simply because Agent Pease _did_ react dangerously and without regard for protocol or authority?"

"With all due respect, Director Danvers, no, I don't think she attacked her friend for anyone but you," Nobel grinds out, just this side of insubordination. 

Alex quirks a brow. "You're sure about that."

Nobel's eyes flash fire and abruptly lock with Alex's. "Yes, ma'am. I'm more than sure."

Alex raises her chin, unwavering. "Assuming you're right, why does it upset you? Do you have a problem with me? Or do you have a problem with Emily's alleged concern for me?"

Nobel's eyes narrow a tick at the use of the girl's first name, suspicion now mixing with her anger. "I have a problem with anyone who would take a kind, gentle girl like Emily, and teach her how to end a conflict with her fists."

At this, Alex's composure slips and she takes a startled step back. "You think _I_ taught her that? That I condone what she did, in any way?" Indignation begins to seep into Alex's chest. "What, are you under the impression I'm training an attack dog?"

Nobel meets her step for step, shoulders square, green eyes licking rage. "I think she really wants you to be proud of her. And I think you've been here for almost a year and there's not a single person in this base who can say they know the first thing about you, not even her. Add that to the amount of time you spend alone with her every day, and yeah, people will start to wonder just what you're doing with her."

Alex grits her teeth and lets her wrath fester. "So because I'm a private person, because I don't bring the whole base in on my personal issues, you think you're justified in questioning a relationship that’s none of your business?"

"Emily is my business!" the agent bellows, stepping into her director's personal space. "I've known her since she got here, over a year longer than you have. And before you rode in on your white horse, _I_ had her back. _I_ was the one who took care of her, protected her, made sure the horrors we faced every single day didn't touch her." Nobel steps impossibly closer, voice lowering to a growl, "I've loved her since day one. _You_ are the intruder here. _You_ are the closed-off, impersonal stranger that took an inexplicable interest in someone I love more than you can possibly imagine. So when she attacks someone for _you_ and in a way I never would've seen coming, do you get why that doesn't look good for you?"

Anger now only a dull roar beneath her lungs, Alex lets out a soft breath and braces her palms against the younger agent's shoulders, gently pushing her back a step, re-establishing some distance without relinquishing her authority. 

"Believe it or not, Agent Nobel, I _do_ understand," the director assures, voice low and calm. 

The blonde raises her chin, eyebrow quirked, and crosses her arms. "Really? You understand that you're playing with the most important person in my life?"

It sets Alex's teeth on edge and roils in her gut, but she does her best to keep herself in line. "I'm not _playing_ with her. She's not…a toy, or a pet to me—"

"Then what is she?" Nobel practically begs. The agent's shoulders slump with a hard sigh, and eyes falling to the ground as a years' worth of concern weighs down on her. "Because I can't figure it out. You taught her how to fight, how to use a weapon. You basically taught her how to be a perfect DEO agent; the rules and regs, how to lead, how to investigate. But you don't…you don't treat her like an agent."

Alex furrows her brow. "I do."

Nobel barks a laugh and levels her superior with an incredulous smirk. "No, you don't. You let her call you by your first name. You let her have run of the base. I've never seen you discipline her for the countless infractions she makes against the dress code. And the only time I've ever seen you reprimand her, it was because she went to a bar with the guys from Beta. I'd say you're mothering her, if I could reconcile that notion with what little I _do_ know about you."

"But you don't actually know anything relevant about me," Alex points out, though she's distinctly uncomfortable with the blunt assessment of her conduct with her young second.

Nobel tilts her head ambiguously. "Nothing personal, no. I know you're a soldier. And a scientist. I know you're smart in battle, and that you prefer fieldwork to paperwork. I know how to read your face in the field, follow your unspoken orders." She shakes her head. "But ask me where you transferred from, what you do in your spare time, or hell, even how old you are? Couldn't even guess. Forgive me if I can't give the benefit of the doubt to someone who plays everything that close to the vest."

Alex eyes the other woman thoughtfully for a long moment. 

She doesn't need to earn her subordinate's faith where it doesn't pertain to the purview of their professional relationship, and Nobel has to know anyone keeping secrets keeps them for a reason. 

But, then again, Alex understands, acutely, the kind of worry that comes with loving someone just this side of too trusting. She also understands the impact that kind of situation can have on working relationships, if left unchecked.

Well, if Nobel wants a secret, a genuine show of trust, maybe Alex can handle that. 

Making her decision, she heaves a sigh and meets the other woman's gaze. "I'm twenty-eight, as of last month."

Surprise, and no small amount of confusion, splashes across the blonde's face.

Alex presses on, despite the boulder that's taken residence on her sternum. "I spent half the day standing in front of a liquor store, just staring at the door."

Recognition straightens Nobel's shoulders and clears her eyes. "How long?"

And it's clear she's not asking how many hours.

Instantly, Alex is looking at someone who knows _exactly_ what the brunette is saying, knows because Alex apparently isn't the only person in this room who's done something like stare at a door for nearly five hours, unsure if she's gathering the courage to go in, or walk away. 

The heaviness in the brunette's chest eases.

A wry smile pulls at Alex's lips. "Ten months, nineteen days, and twenty-one hours. You?"

Nobel returns the smile. "Three years, six months, five days, and something like…two hours." She hesitates a beat, smile dimming, as she puts a few pieces together. "Is that why you're here? In Chicago? A clean break from…whatever."

Alex's eyes find the floor. "No. Not really. Maybe, I guess." She sighs wearily. "Something…happened, and I lost someone. My Emily, you could say. And I sort of spiraled. Drank myself half to death for a few weeks until my old director dragged me off my ass, sobered me up and put me on a plane; told me I was the new director of the Chicago division, and that…if I wanted to kill myself so badly, I should swallow my pistol next time or I'd end up taking a lot of people down with me." She shrugs. "Haven't touched a bottle since he grabbed the last one outta my hand."

"Was it your fault? What happened to your Emily?"

She's asking because she thinks Alex poses the same threat to her Emily, Alex knows.

The brunette lifts her eyes and quirks a brow. "She's not dead. She's perfectly fine, actually. She just…wishes I didn't exist, wants no reminder that I ever did. So I did what I could to abide by that, because yes, this is my fault."

Nobel mulls that over, nodding. "Sounds like a break up. Which is a valid reason to drink, but unless you've always been a robot, doesn't feel like the whole story behind…this." She gestures vaguely at her stoic director. 

Alex smiles sardonically at the notes of a fishing expedition she can hear sprinkled through the statement, and absently wonders if the blonde had studied journalism at some point.

"Does it make more sense if I tell you she's my little sister?" 

It's more than Alex had planned on divulging when she'd decided to open up to her subordinate, but it's been a long day, and everything is already riding too close to the surface.

She really should end the conversation soon.

"I'm an only child, but I guess I can see it." Nobel narrows her eyes, then, "Emily's not a replacement, is she? 'Cause that might not be the worst reason, but—"

"She's not a replacement," Alex cuts in, voice steady and brokering no argument. "Trust me, I'm not delusional enough to think what I lost can be replaced." The throb in the hollow side of Alex's chest intensifies as testament. "And Emily deserves better than that."

The blonde quirks a small but genuine smile. "She does."

"Well, assuming I've suitably aired my deep dark secrets, I'm going to go write up the incident report." Alex give a firm nod and turns, planning to make a quick exit.

"Have you tried sparring? To get rid of the buzzing in your muscles when you want a drink."

The director tips her head. "I haven't. Are you offering?"

Nobel smirks. "Meet me in the hand-to-hand room tomorrow at thirteen-hundred. It'll help, I promise."

Alex considers this for a moment. "Sure. We'll talk about that highly inappropriate crush you have on a seventeen-year-old."

The shock hits her subordinate hard, mouth falling open, though no sound actually makes it up her throat.

Alex is already halfway to the door when Nobel finally finds her voice, sputtering her defense. 

Alex's lips twist up, just this side of cruel. "See you tomorrow, Agent Nobel."

The door slams on the blonde's continued denial.

 

* * *

 

It's nearly ten o'clock by the time Alex finishes typing up the report, scrubs a weary hand over her face, and shuts down her computer for the night, absently muttering the elements' song as she pushes back from the desk.

Emily's leather jacket is lying in a tangled heap on the prep table when Alex goes about straightening the lab area, and, with only a small amount of exasperation, she grabs the article of clothing, gives it a sharp snap to loosen the wrinkles, then hangs it up beside her own near identical jacket behind the office door. 

Brushing a solemn hand down the supple black leather, there's the faintest twitch of a sad smile, unbidden and uncontrollable. One she's too tired to wrestle away for the moment, and one that accompanies a veiled acknowledgement of the life she's already sharing with her young protégé, a life they're both probably too invested in to turn away from now.

Abruptly snapping out of it, Alex nearly rips her hand away, shaking her head hard to dislodge the notion. She backtracks and assures herself the scattered bits of the teenager that seem to sprinkle over every part of Alex's day – including a favored leather jacket, in which Emily cuts a perfect miniature replica of her mentor – are just that; scattered bits of life, not a life itself.

It's not too late. _They're_ not too late.

Heaving a sigh, she restarts her list of elements and turns off the lights, heading over to Control for one last check-in with Agent Mueller, the commander-on-shift, before heading deeper into the base toward her quarters for the night.

"There's yttrium, ytterbium, actinium, rubidium," she whispers, staring down hard at her shoes and listening to her own voice reverberate pleasantly back toward her in the empty hallway. "And boron, gadolinium, niobium, iridium."

_She can practically taste the smooth musk of scotch as it slips over her tongue and—_

"There's holmium and helium and hafnium and erbium," she pushes just a little louder. "And phosphorus and francium and fluorine and terbium."

_She really wants you to be proud of her—_

"And manganese and mercury, molybdenum, magnesium. Dysprosium and scandium and cerium and cesium."

_Kara would be proud of her._

Her boots squeal as she stops dead in her tracks, and squeezes her eyes shut against the tractor-trailer that collides with the gaping nothing in the left side of her chest and steals the air from her lungs.

_Kara's arm slings casually around Emily's shoulders, tucking the teenager securely, affectionately, into her side—_

Stop.

_Two matching sets of blue eyes smiling at her—_

"Stop." She takes a deep breath and carefully, meticulously blanks her mind, presses a firm fist into the left side of her ribcage, and restarts her song, over-enunciating every sound and syllable as she begins walking once more. "There's antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium. And hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium. And nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium. And iron, americium, ruthenium, uranium—"

"That's super nerdy, you know."

Alex startles at Emily's voice, and looks up to find the girl curled up in a ball against Alex's door.

"What?" the older brunette asks, exhausted mind still half a pace behind. 

"The song. The fact that you just sing it out loud when you're alone; it's all super nerdy."

"It's just…it's a coping thing—" Alex huffs a hard breath and shakes her head. "What are you doing here? You should be in bed."

The girl shrugs and resettles her chin against her knees, not showing any sign of moving from her position in front of the door. "What are you coping with?" Emily counters as if it's relevant.

Alex so does not have the strength for this right now.

The older woman tightens her jaw, shoulders falling, and tiredly moves to sit next to the girl, sliding down the wall and mirroring a looser version of Emily's pose, draping her wrists over her knees. Her head thumps back against the metal door behind them.

The younger woman turns her head, resting her cheek against her knees and turning wide blue eyes up at her mentor, which Alex staunchly ignores, the ghost of too-similar eyes already too tight around her windpipe to deal with right now.

"So," Emily prompts expectantly.

"So what?"

"What are you coping with?"

Alex lets out a breath and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, body screaming for a drink and she's weak enough to imagine going off-base to one of the local bars nearby and allowing herself just one drink. Just one. Just to take the edge off.

Ten months, twenty days, and two hours, Alex reminds herself. 

"Things I lost," she finally answers her protégé's question, tired enough to give the girl something of herself.

_It's just one moment. Emily deserves one moment, doesn't she?_

_She does, but you don't._

Her jaw clenches around the thought and she squeezes her eyes shut tight, muscling halfhearted restraints back onto her wayward mind.

"What things?" the teenager follows up.

Alex rolls her head, opening her eyes to quick a pointed eyebrow at the girl. "What are you doing here?"

Those blue eyes fall away, focusing instead on Alex's fingers as they hang, tangled together, between raised knees. Her brow furrows deeply and she gulps around whatever she's preparing to say. 

"Nick said something. Before I, you know, hit him. He said you take a lot of risks in the field. Like you…like you're trying to get yourself killed. And I just…I've been thinking about it, and—" Emily swallows again, though tears do manage to swell this time. "You don't care if you die, do you?" she whimpers, almost too soft for Alex to catch.

Alex turns away and fixes her eyes on the concrete wall across from them. Apparently, the choice to have this exact conversation has never been hers to begin with, and she can't avoid it now.

"It has nothing to do with care, or a lack thereof." She kills the _mostly_ before it can fully take form in her mind. "It's my job, Emily. As director, I have to prioritize the lives of my agents over anything else, up to and including my own."

A small sniff comes from beside her and Alex has to close her eyes against the niggling itch of responding pain that's made its way through her exhausted barriers, the ones she puts so much energy into constantly maintaining between herself and the crumbling, raw, bloody parts that remind her of everything she has to live without.

And she's just so tired.

"What happens to me if you…if you don't come back?" the small brunette eventually asks, sounding much younger than her seventeen years.

And honestly, it's not something she's considered before; that Emily's place at the DEO isn't guaranteed without Alex. She can't let that change anything, change her priorities in the field, but it's something she should prepare for, in case her replacement takes issue with having an underage, insubordinate kid on the payroll.

Unbidden, Kara's smiling face flashes through her mind; further proof her carefully constructed walls are fast disintegrating before her eyes.

But she allows the image to stay, as heart-wrenching as it is, because it's the answer to Emily's question. 

Alex has no doubt that Nobel would happily provide Emily with whatever she needs to be okay. 

But there's not a person on this planet, or any other, who would love Emily as fiercely, as entirely, as Kara – Alex's literal heart and soul.

And her sister may not want _her_ anymore, but if Kara saw Emily, knew the girl had been Alex's in some way, Emily's place in Kara's heart would be set for life, and nothing and no one would ever be able to take that away from them.

_They won't be alone when you're gone._

"There are people I trust in the DEO who will make sure you're okay," she tells the girl, rolling her head once more to look at her, make sure she hears and understands.

Emily sniffs and gives her a small nod, swallowing back her tears and shifting until their arms press together. 

Alex shouldn't allow the contact, shouldn't allow the heavy aching thing in her chest be soothed by it.

She leans into the girl further, refocusing her eyes on the wall. 

Emily nuzzles her head against Alex's shoulder and Alex lets the girl's dark hair tickle her ear.

"What things did you lose?" the girl mumbles softly into their comfortable silence. 

Alex closes her eyes and sighs, turning to brush her cheek against her girl's head, inhaling deeply. 

"My home."

There's a beat of silence, then a very small, "Me too."

 

* * *

 

At 03:17, Alex's cell phone screams out and she's instantly awake, throwing back the covers, reaching for the phone with one hand and her discarded pants with the other. 

"Danvers," she barks, putting the phone on speaker and dragging the pants up her long legs. 

_"Ma'am, we picked up the Tlaari's signature at a warehouse off 88, near Aurora,"_ Mueller reports quickly. _"And he's got company; a lot of it. At least three dozen individual heat signatures, and five different species we can detect."_

"Any sign of the missing humans?" she asks, pulling on a bra and yesterday's shirt before shoving socked feet into her boots, lacing and tying them quickly.

_"Eleven heat signatures were separated from the rest. Could be them, but we can't say for sure."_

"Raise Alpha, Charlie, and Delta. Beta and Echo on standby. I want everyone briefed and ready to move out in thirty minutes." She hangs up without waiting for a response and turns to her dresser, planting her hands and tucking her chin against her chest.

Thirty seconds to think of her, just thirty seconds.

_…singing The Band Perry's "Live Forever" at the top of her lungs, urging Alex to dance with her with a wide smile; swinging from a rope swing into the river below with a delighted shriek; snatching an Oreo right out of Alex's teeth, giggling mischievously the whole way through…_

And then Alex is all hard eyes and battle-ready armor.

Alex leaves Kara behind, boxed up nice and neat next to all the best, softest parts of Alex that have no place on the battlefield. 

The warrior that Alex built is all that remains, storming out of the room, scowl set, muscles hard, ready for war.

 

Her troops stand to attention when she marches into the control room, outfitted in their own armor, weapons waiting at rest, soldiers' masks in place. 

She doesn't miss a step, anchors her own semi-automatic to her hip, and takes her place at the helm of her legion. 

"Alpha, Charlie, Delta, move out!" Her voice booms through the room, invigorating the soldiers behind her as they the fall into step behind her. 

"Hoo-ah!" they bellow as one behind her, the wall of sound flooding her blood with adrenaline.

This is who she is, who she's trained to be, and she revels in the feeling of her soldiers at her back, the promise of the hard, righteous fight ahead, and the knowledge that her soldiers would deliver eleven people home to their families come battle's end. And no matter what, she would deliver her soldiers home to theirs.

This is her job, this is her honor. She would not hesitate, would not question. 

But then Emily's standing beside the load-out bay door when they round the corner, eyes wide and body small as the battalion approaches, vans idling on the tarmac behind her.

Alex's heart falters a beat, their eyes meeting yards away, and a dangerous thought flickers through her mind.

_What about my family?_

And she wants to wipe away the bone-deep fear in those expressive blue eyes. She wants to pull the girl to her chest, tuck Emily's head under her chin, press a kiss to her temple, and tell her she's coming back, she'll be home, she'll see her later. 

She wants to promise she won't leave her. 

_She doesn't want to leave her._

But she can't promise she'll make it home. Not when she might have to choose to break that promise in the heat of battle.

So she doesn't, and she won't, and when Emily's fingertips skate over her wrist as she passes, she pretends it doesn't make her wish for different circumstances, and _'if only's._

 

* * *

 

Twenty-six aliens, thirty-seven DEO agents, and eleven human prisoners. 

Those are the stakes, and Alex will not let this be the night humanity loses. 

The fight is chaotic, human and inhuman sounds of anger, of distress, of loss fill the air. Everything is moving, shifting. The world inside the warehouse is in turmoil, and it's hard to know who's winning, who's losing, and who's already lost.

There's blood on her face, though she doesn't know if it's hers or someone else's, if it's human or alien. All she knows for sure is there's a tall alien with its hand around her throat, holding her aloft, boots not even skimming the ground.

One of her agents has just disappeared down a hallway in pursuit of two hostiles, including the Golle they encountered the other day, and another agent is trying to free the remaining three human prisoners from yet another alien, and he's losing. 

She knows they need her, and that spurs her on.

She grabs the hand at her throat in one hand, snags the small blade from her boot with the other, and drives the steel hard and deep into the alien's deltoid, hard enough to knock blade into bone.

The creature howls and reels back, dropping her to the concrete below, knocking the wind from her chest, but she hardly takes a moment to recover before she's forcing herself into action. 

The bloody knife is still in her hand when she glances down, so she pushes herself up on ragged knees, fumbling to catch herself when her body dips dizzily to the left, then pushes off the ground, onto her feet, running full-tilt toward the bulky Gregorian holding tight to the shackles of the remaining prisoners as it swipes at Agent Mykal, snagging his vest and picking him straight off his feet with a grotesque, toothy grin.

Heaving a mighty battle-cry, Alex plants her feet in one, two, three steps, launches herself nearly vertically, grabs anchor in the alien's scraggly beard, and drags the knife down into his throat, slicing open his jugular and windpipe in her brutality. 

Mykal falls to the ground when the creature's meaty hand flies to her, grabbing her by the back of her vest and tossing her away like a bug. But he's already falling, dropping the chain, dead before he hits the ground. 

The humans run, going to Mykal and dragging him up with them.

"Go!" she croaks when they move to help her next, waving her arm frantically. "Get him out of here! Go!"

She's stumbling to her feet again, forcing her beaten body to move through the bone-deep pain and exhaustion toward the hallway where Alias had disappeared minutes ago.

She hears the struggle first and limps her way toward the old office where Alias is going hand to hand with a Spurion, the agent miraculously untouched by the multiple venomous spines the creature has already expelled around the room, including one that seems to have killed the Golle, now just a motionless lump in the corner. 

Her knife is gone, so she snags a long stake of wood and gathers as much strength as her fatigued muscles will allow and charges in, bringing the makeshift club down hard across the Spurion's head.

The backhand catches her off guard, sending her flying across the dilapidated room, her vision doubling and her ears throbbing at impact, and she barely hears Alias scream her name before she's moving again, forcing herself up onto wobbling legs. 

Time slows. She sees Alias, eyes wide and terrified, as they meet hers over the recovering Suprions shoulder, sees the spines pushing forward into the creatures knuckles, preparing to shoot, sees those blood red eyes turn on Alias, and she knows he'll be dealt a deadly blow this time. 

She acts without thought, runs forward, shifts her weight, hurls herself at the creatures back, sends the both of them crashing forward.

"Run!" she shouts at Alias, "Now, Alias!" when she sees him hesitate, and he flees.

The creature is already moving then, tossing her body away.

She grapples for a weapon of any kind, sees the Spurion hone in on her, gets her grip around a shard of glass, and, ignoring the spiny hand taking aim at her, kicks up and forward again, throwing herself at the creature just one more time, burying the piece of glass in his chest and rolling away when the creature begins to thrash, a guttural death-cry filling the small space.

The large beast rips the glass from its chest, clutching and screaming, throwing his heavy body into one wall, then the other, crashes into the doorway, then grabs at the hallways ceiling and, with one last mighty bellow, drags the drop-ceiling and a mountain of debris above it down on top of himself as he falls, effectively killing himself and blocking her only escape route in one fell swoop. 

She's panting and trembling when the crash settles, and, taking a moment to collect clear her mind, hangs her head and just breathes. She's alive. They're all alive. It's okay now. 

And then she looks up, searching out another exit.

When she tries to scoot herself forward, the stabbing pain in her hip drags her focus down, and she sees one of the Spurions spines lodged in the soft dip beside her right hip, the heavy paralytic already making itself at known in the weakened abdominals just beneath. 

She curses and reaches for her comm, ready to call for assistance, when her eyes catch on the throbbing, yellow-green blob, no bigger than a softball at this point, lying only yards from her prone body, another one of the Spurions spines having punctured it's protective outer layer, the soft hiss now itching her ears. 

It takes her brain a second to comprehend, to accept just what she's looking at, eyes flashing to the dead Golle in the corner before resettling on the growing spore pock.

And she sobs out a bitter laugh. Then another, until she's rolling wet, incredulous eyes up to the ceiling above, as if to ask _really?_

She stares down at the spore pock again, watching all traces of green disappear, leaving only the yellow, and the barest, nearly undetectable oranges that begin to replace it.

This is it, she knows. There's no getting out of this one, not without a miracle, and she won't let her agents take that risk. 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she struggles to shift backward toward the wall, the spine in her hip making movement increasingly difficult. 

When she's settled, she takes one last calming breath, chases the tears from her throat, and opens her comm link.

"Mueller."

_"Director Danvers, where are you? We can't see you on screen."_

"I'm in an office down the collapsed hallway. Doors blocked, and I'm down; Spurion spine," she relays with as much composure as possible. 

_"I'm sending a team no—"_

"No," she grunts through another spike of pain, shifting off the injured side. "There's…there's a Golle spore pock in here and they…they won't clear the door in time." She clears her throat. "I've got…maybe five minutes."

 _"I-…what are you saying, ma'am?"_ Mueller's voice dips in trepidation.

She breathes a watery chuckle, watching the growth continue to expand terrifyingly only yards away from her. "I'm saying goodbye, Mueller."

Emily's scream pierces through the comm then, and Alex nearly doubles over at the sharp bolt of longing that tears into her heart at the sound.

_"Ma'am—"_

"Put her on," she concedes, forcing the wobble from her voice. 

Emily's voice comes through fast and terrified, _"Alex! Please, you have to try! You have to—"_

"Shh, shh, Emily, it's okay, it's going to be okay," she soothes through the radio, rolling her head against the wall, imagining she can do more for the girl, imagines another blue-eyed girl she wishes she could do more for. 

_"Please,"_ the teenager sobs, and it tears a hole right through Alex's already devastated heart. _"You have to come back. I-I need you to come back, please."_

Alex smiles brokenly and heaves a shuddering breath. "I would if I could, sweetheart. I swear to you I would."

Emily hiccups at the term of endearment and it pulls Alex's smile a bit wider, a bit stronger.

"Do you remember what I told you last night? About who would take care of you if this were to happen?"

 _"Yeah,"_ Emily croaks. _"But I don't want anyone else, Alex! I want_ you _!"_

Alex screws her eyes shut against the throb in her chest. "I know, I know, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. This isn't what…Em, I don't want to die. I don't want to leave you. But it's out of my hands now."

_"Alex…"_

She takes a breath and presses on, needing Emily to know. 

"After I-…when I'm gone, my DEO emergency contact information will automatically open and he'll be notified about what happened. He'll tell my family and when he comes to get my things, there will probably be a woman with him, my little sister. Or maybe she'll show up after him, or…she'll come. At some point. Looking for answers, or some part of me. You'll know who she is immediately, I promise." Alex wipes at the tears that finally spill over when she imagines the look that will undoubtedly mar her sister's gentle face. "When she gets here, tell her who you are. What you are to me. She'll…she'll love you. So much. More than you can imagine. She'll offer you a place with her. And…it is your choice, but I would love for the two of you to have each other after all of this." She swallows thickly. "Do you understand, Emily?"

The girl gasps out a shaky breath. _"Yeah. I…I'll want to go with her."_

Alex sobs out a watery laugh. "I don't doubt that. Especially once you meet her. You are gonna love her, Em. I swear."

_"Well, if she's anything like you…"_

"She's nothing like me," Alex smiles fondly. "She's just…she's so much better. She's beyond imagination. Everything good and strong you can think of, and so much more. She's…she was always the light of my life, my better half. You'll see. Be good for her, okay?"

 _"Alright, mom,"_ the girl tries to put her usual joking tone to the word, but her voice wobbles and it falls flat, and Alex has to choke back sudden, heavy sobs that rise at a longing she _absolutely_ refuses to name, especially now that it's too late to change.

Red begins to bleed into the spore's skin.

"Em, I've…I've gotta go," Alex whispers against the emotion she can no longer hold back.

_"I-…okay. I'll…I'll miss you."_

Alex does sob at that. "I'll miss you too. But I'll…I'll watch over you guys, alright?"

Emily's crying softly now, her voice almost indiscernible when she murmurs, _"Okay. I-…bye, Alex."_

"Bye, Emily," Alex scratches out, lets the quiet air hang between them for a long moment, then closes the link and almost violently rips the device from her ear, hurdling it across the room.

The spore pock is nearing its end stage and Alex has seconds left. 

No longer fighting her tears, Alex lets the crushing weight of heartbreak collapse in on her and there are no walls standing between her and that pain. 

She thinks of Kara. 

Closes her eyes, and lets the memories overwhelm her, lets Kara take her last few moments on earth.

_…eyes bluer than the ocean, showing every emotion, seeing more of Alex than anyone ever has or will; the sound of her name on Kara's lips; the day Kara hugged her for the first time; the look on her face when Alex surprised her at college during finals' week; the pure relief and terror in Alex's veins the moment she caught sight of her sister at the wing of that plane; the deep thrumming fullness of their life together; the warmth of Kara's half of their soul always seeping into Alex's, even in her coldest moments; the smile that touched Kara's lips – a soft, painfully beautiful thing – when they existed in sync, when every breath was their life, and their lungs, in their heart, in their soul._

Alex lets the memory of her other half fill her chest, lets it destroy her in her last moments, lets herself be sorry for leaving like this, and lets herself say it aloud.

"I'm sorry, Kara. I love you. Always. And I'll wait for you, I promise." Kara's face fills her mind, bright smile, crinkling eyes behind those glasses, hair done up in a messy bun, her body tucked perfectly in Alex's arms; heaven on earth. 

The room begins to tremble as the pock becomes too big for itself and she squeezes her eyes shut, holds tightly to the image of Kara in her mind, tries not to wish for different, watches Kara grow up, every moment in a flash as the room begins to pulse, knows it over, watches Kara fly, loves Kara for one last moment with everything she has, pushes every ounce of strength and will and love in the entire lifetime she won't get to spend with Kara into this one last moment and—

The recognition on Kara's young face that very first moment is the last thing Alex sees before there is only eternal nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm, like, so sorry. 
> 
> Like...so, so sorry.
> 
> But lemme know what you think? Thoughts, feelings, d'you like Emily so far? How's Alex's angst for ya? Excited for Kara to arrive? (Yes, she's coming, I swear, I'm not that kind of dick. It's still all the Kalex ever. Romantically so. I promise.)
> 
> Again, I'm sorry?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for giving this a shot!
> 
> So this is the intro chapter of a new story I'm working on. I'll have the second chapter up in a few days, but lemme know what you think so far! 
> 
> I know there's really not much to go on, but I promise the story will pick up very quickly in the next chapter and you'll have a better idea of where our girls are headed in the aftermath of this fallout.
> 
> I'm actually super excited about this story, and I'm really hoping you guys will share my enthusiasm, but please be honest if you don't. 
> 
> But thanks again for giving my fic a look!


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